Callum & Harper

“Oh, I distinctly remember feeling hollow.”



“Hollow,” he repeated thoughtfully.



“Yeah. I didn’t realize until much later in my life that the hollowness was basically a complete lack of feeling loved.”



“God, Harper.”



“What?” I said, sitting up.



Callum sat up just as abruptly. “I know exactly what you mean. My void existed until I’d say, sixteen or so and became friends with Charlie and Cherry. That’s when I realized what I’d been missing.”



We just stared at one another but not in pity the way so many people would look at us. No, this was a look of understanding and empathy. Callum half-grinned. I fought the urge to jump off and hug him until he turned blue. The moment passed and we both laid back down.



“So, the first foster parents I can distinctly remember were Mr. and Mrs. Campari. They actually made me call them that. I was four and already realized they weren’t in it for the long haul.



“Mr. and Mrs. Campari lived in Brooklyn, Dyker Heights to be exact, a pleasant neighborhood with manicured lawns and middle income families.



“I don’t remember them being cruel, just detached. I suppose they knew they couldn’t keep me and decided it be best not to form an attachment. I don’t blame them in the slightest.”



“When did you leave the Campari’s?” Callum asked quietly.



“I think I was six?” I stated, trying to fight through the memories. “I remember something about Mr. Campari having some sort of heart surgery. Anyway, that’s when I was moved to another household. I endured four new foster families until the age of ten. They were normal, nothing particularly strange about them. They just couldn’t handle my acting out. At eleven, I moved in with the Strauss’.” I paused, to gather myself and catch a single tear falling down my cheek. I caught the hitch in my throat. “They were my favorite. They were kind and gave me, I think, my philosophy on life as well as the morals I carry and live by. I was lucky to have them.



“I was with them until the age of fourteen. They’re responsible for my most treasured possession.”



“That book you keep wrapped in a cloth?”



I laughed. “Yeah, that.”



“What book is it?”



I stood and descended the bookcase stairs, hopping down each step with a lightheartedness I hadn’t felt in years. I was going to show Callum Tate my favorite thing in the entire world. I’d never shown anyone for fear they’d try to take it from me. It’d been hidden in my possession for so many years, it felt liberating to finally feel comfortable enough to show someone.



I grabbed my bag and dug my hand through my meager belongings. When my hand hit the carefully wrapped book, I gently pulled it from the bottom and walked over to the coffee table next to Callum’s makeshift bed. I knelt to sit on my ankles and placed the wrapped book on top of the table. I nodded my head at the lamp above Callum’s head and he turned it on.



I unwrapped the book carefully, exposing its cover.



“To Kill A Mockingbird,” he said with reverence, “by Harper Lee.”



I flipped the hard cover open and revealed Harper Lee’s signature.



“Signed!”



“I know!” I said giddily.



“How did you get this?” He asked, bringing his face reverently toward the signature.



“I won it. If you can believe that.”



“But how?”



“The Strauss’ took me with them on a summer vacation to visit family they had in North Carolina. It was the best and only trip of my life,” I said, looking back on the memories. “Anyway, there was some sort of beach carnival going on. Apparently, they’d been planning it for weeks because they had this jar full of buttons sit on the front counter at their local grocery store. You would pay twenty dollars to enter a guess at how many buttons filled the jar.



“Well, I didn’t even know the prize but I, now don’t freak out on me,” I laughed, “but I am a freak when it comes to guessing these things. I’ve never lost.”



“Never?”



“Not once. Of course, the other prizes were always lame. Although, I did win a bike once when I guessed how many cherries were inside a canning jar when I was nine but that was taken from me.”



“What? Why?”



“My foster parents thought I stole it. I mean, I was a bit of a thief back then but when I tried explaining to them that they could verify my story, they refused to check on it. I think they just wanted to give the bike to their niece who lived in Jersey.”



“That’s pretty shitty.”



“Yeah. Anyway, so I entered with some leftover birthday money from the Strauss’ not even aware of the prize. A couple of days later, I had forgotten about it, actually. We went to the beach carnival and rode a few rides but an hour into our visit, that’s when it happened.



“I can remember everything about that moment like it was yesterday. I was wearing a white linen sundress that was a hand me down but still so beautiful. I had my hair up in a pony tail and was carrying a pink cloud of cotton candy on a paper cone. My flip-flops smacked against my feet as we walked the sandy beach.



“I didn’t think I could be happier until we all heard a buzz over the carnival P.A. system.”



“What did they say?” Callum asked. He’d sat up for the story and was on the edge of his seat.



“They said, and I quote, ‘Harper Bailey of New York City, you are the winner of our button contest. You have one hour to claim your prize.’



“I was so ecstatic, I dropped my cotton candy on the ground and Philip Strauss, who was just a year younger, followed me closely until we reached the carnival gazebo. People were milling about waiting to see the girl who won and the prize she was gonna’ get.



“I walked right up the steps to the gazebo and yelled, ‘I’m Harper Bailey!’ I don’t think they were expecting someone so young. You should have seen the look on the man’s face.” I said, laughing a little. “He asked if I could provide some sort of identification. I whipped out my New York State I.D. so fast, his head spun. “Then he revealed my prize.



“I’m gonna’ be honest with you, Callum. It was the furthest thing from my mind but it was the most wonderful thing I could have possibly gotten. My favorite book of all time and the author was my namesake. I was in the local paper and everything. It was such a strange coincidence.”



“That’s wild, Harper.”



I sighed. “I know.”



We sat in silence as I re-wrapped the book and placed it back in my messenger bag.



“Why did you leave them?” He asked, breaking the sleepy quiet.



I took a seat on the edge of Callum’s couch and my chin sunk into my chest. “I didn’t. They left me.



“Harper, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”



“No,” I said, looking back over my shoulder at him. “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it.”



“What happened?” He asked, sidling closer to me and laying his hand on my shoulder.



I placed my hand over his. “Dad, I mean, Henry Strauss, got a job offer in Chicago. I wished so badly that they’d adopt me but as we neared their moving day and I was prepared for yet another transition, the offer never came. I was silly, really, hoping they’d make me a part of their family. It was then I realized that I was really, truly on my own, that no one was going to love me the way I wanted to be.”



“Harper. You don’t really think that, do you?”



“I don’t know,” I threw out quickly. “Anyway, that’s when I went off the deep end, getting into hella’ trouble and getting a new family every six months. The all time record was one month. I’m sort of proud of that one.



“The foster families got worse as I got older. Either my reputation preceded me or, you know, they just didn’t like taking the older ones, which was pretty common.”



“I know,” Callum said.



I shrugged my shoulders, scooting against the back of the couch and getting comfortable beside Callum. I lay my head on his shoulder and he reached his arm around mine. We sunk into one another.



“The last few foster families were just atrocious,” I admitted to the room. “I’d just turned sixteen and gotten thrown out of a bad family for breaking into the school.”



“Why?”



“It’s a long story. Basically, I had this friend named Lauren who unfortunately got pregnant. She was kicked out and sent to one of those magnet schools for ‘troubled teens’. Anyway, she had a few things in her locker along with some money. They wouldn’t let her enter the school to retrieve it. They’d said they would retrieve her belongings for her and forward them on but she was desperate for the cash inside and was afraid the shady janitors would pocket it and claim there was nothing else inside.



“We came up with this plan to leave a classroom window open nearest her locker during school and then we’d come back later and get into her locker.”



“I don’t get it. Why didn’t she just give you the combination to her locker and you do it during school hours?” He asked.



“Because if anyone and I mean anyone saw me get into her locker, even with Lauren’s permission, I’d have gone to jail and I couldn’t have another arrest on my record.”



“I guess I can understand that.”



“Well, I left a window in the wood shop classroom open and we returned that night but Lauren was too big to fit through, so I agreed to go in without her. I was in an out in less than five minutes with all her stuff. I thought it the perfect pseudo-crime.” I paused.



“But?” He asked, eyebrows raised.



“But, turns out, a few kids, who hated me, saw us while playing basketball on school grounds and turned my name in.”



“What jerks, dude.”



“No kidding.”



“So, then what happened?” He prodded.



“I told the school but to them it didn’t matter why I did it. They expelled me anyway. I was just thankful they didn’t press charges.”



“That’s when you were forced to change families?”



“Yeah, that was the straw that broke that camel’s back, I think. If I had known what kind of family I would have been moved to, I never would have broken into the school.”



“What kind of people were the new family?”



“It wasn’t the family so much as it was the other foster kid I had to share the house with. The first day there, I had a pretty pleasant conversation with the parents about their expectations and all that crap. You know the drill. We were just sitting at their kitchen table, talking, when I heard the door open and this hulking guy around my age fills the door way.



“‘Harper,’ the old lady says. ‘This is John Bell. He’s the other foster child here.’ I stood up and shook the guy’s hand. He sat down with us and seemed pleasant enough through conversation. We all ate dinner together and then watched a little television. All nice and neat and pretty, right?